


Solace

by saltwaterflower



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor/Patient, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwaterflower/pseuds/saltwaterflower
Summary: Ginko becomes Dr. Adashino's patient and it's the small things Adashino notices. A feeling of nostalgia. A past dream he had. A moment he can no longer remember.A past lives AU where Ginko remembers first.
Relationships: Adashino/Ginko (Mushishi)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 46





	1. The Sound of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Fell in love with this series. My contribution to the fandom.

_I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes. - e.e. cummings_

.

.

.

The cream-colored chrysanthemums sitting in Adashino’s office contained shades of butterscotch and honey threaded through its petals. He had received them from a young woman tending a sidewalk stand earlier that mid-afternoon. She was folding her stand when Adashino passed by her. The air had been thick with impending rain when she stopped him, holding a bundle wrapped in parchment paper. 

“Take these,” she offered, extending her arm. There was pollen on her fingertips. “Fresh from my garden.”

Adashino stepped forward to purchase them, a quick exchange of money, which he already had in-hand, but she declined. 

“Promise me you’ll put them somewhere nice,” she told him. “I have no place for them. They would have been thrown away after tonight.”

Now the chrysanthemums were left forgotten on his desk, folded within the parchment paper to keep the stems from drying. It was a magnificent desk, skillfully crafted and carved from rosewood imported from India and uniquely crafted for a wealthy family in the Northern regions of the country. A rare collectible containing a rich and rumored haunted history. A weathered patina finish from the desk gleamed under the warm natural lighting within his office. 

Heavy curtains saturated the office with warm shades of white, creams, and peaches, which blocked the daylight from entering. Adashino parted the curtain softly then, allowing natural cold light from the late-afternoon to filter into the room instead. 

Closed windows subdued some patients, making them more relaxed whereas a sunlit room amplified their energy. When it was an ordinary meeting between him and a random visitor, Adashino preferred to keep his windows open.

A month ago, faculty from the psychiatry and behavioral health department where he worked had attended a conference. Renowned Professor Tanyuu Karibusa had been invited as a guest speaker that day. Due to her condition, Tanyuu rarely made public appearances and many in attendance had gone strictly to hear her speak, Adashino included. Though he had not known it at the time, Ginko had also been in attendance as well. One of the faculty members pointed him out to Adashino before the lecture.

“See that student?” his colleague whispered loudly to him alongside the rest of their attending department. “That’s Ginko.”

Adashino was unimpressed. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“He used to be a patient of mine.”

Adashino was stunned. Discussing patients with other people was considered a violation of ethics. “Was that necessary to tell me?” he asked her.

His colleague immediately peddled back, realizing too late the error of what she had done. “I’m surprised to see him still alive, that’s all.”

 _Suicidal?_ Adashino wondered, glimpsing at the man sitting a few rows across from them. The auditorium dome caving high above them cast a warm and sullen glow over the audience. There was nothing special about their surroundings. It was traditional auditorium seating. And yet Ginko’s gaze was wandering, almost as if he was enchanted by what was around him. 

At some point, Ginko locked eyes with Adashino. Neither one smiled. Adashino had looked away first.

It wasn’t smart to be engaging further on the topic, but Tanyuu still had not come on stage. Adashino was bored. “Was he ill?” he asked.

“Severe case of childhood amnesia. Exhibited signs of psychosis. That’s why he was referred to speak to me,” his colleague explained to him. That made sense. She was one of their residential trauma therapists. “Other than that, I never knew for certain.”

This enigmatic conversation was going nowhere fast, and Adashino was losing patience. “Then why are you surprised to see him here? This _is_ a public event.”

His colleague blinked. “I never heard from him after our last session. One day he stopped coming to see me. That was over a year ago.”

 _Clearly you must have been so helpful to him._ Adashino did his best to roll his eyes in pained exaggeration. The lights in the auditorium suddenly dimmed. The rubber click of crutches against hardwood echoed as Professor Tanyuu Karibusa stepped onto the stage.

The audience stood applauding.

.

.

.

Ginko knocked on the frame of his office door. It had been purposefully left open. “Dr. Adashino?”

“Ah, Ginko.” Adashino pivoted to face him. “Come in…”

Ginko had his hands splayed on either side of the door frame, paperback book in one hand, and snubbed cigarette in the other. He eyed a trash bin nearby and flicked the half-spent cigarette into it. 

“Sorry,” Ginko apologized, adjusting the straps of his backpack, which had slipped off his shoulders and down his back. He tugged the straps securely back onto both shoulders. “Probably should have tossed that sooner.”

Adashino was struck by the intensity of the moment. There was something familiar about it. Something in the way Ginko carried himself. It was as if Adashino had lived the same moment before in some variation or another, but he couldn’t explain when. 

There was a long passage of silence where Adashino was consciously aware that he was staring. Not that Ginko noticed. The man seemed acutely taken in by his surroundings. “This place,” he murmured in awe taking in every corner of the room.

Adashino gave him a scrutinizing once over. During the conference, Adashino assumed Ginko had been much older given his silver hair, but the auditorium had been dimly lit and Adashino hadn’t been paying close attention to him at the time. In the carefully controlled lighting of his office, Adashino could see his hair was more white like starlight than silver. It was alarming. Disarming even.

“Is this still a good time to meet?” Ginko asked, turning to face him.

“Yeah.” Adashino tilted his chin up, scraped the pads of his fingers over his jaw. “Of course,” he nodded tiredly, blinking as if to wake himself up and snap out of it. He consciously made the effort not to stare before he crossed a line that was perceived as anything other than professional.

He gestured towards an armchair intended for patients, but welcome to any visitor. It was a nice piece of furniture. Painted satin die-cast aluminum frame, smoked stained oak and upholstered in the finest Italian leather. “Make yourself comfortable over there. Take a seat.”

Adashino wheeled his chair from behind his desk and collapsed across it. Their meeting was meant to be casual but Adashino intended to squeeze every opportunity to learn more about Ginko while he was here. Not only was he a supposed student at the local university here but he was also an ex-patient. He would have a case file somewhere. The fact his colleague broke ethics to tell him was perplexing in itself. 

There was something mysteriously unsettling about Ginko. Eerily familiar, even. And Adashino was determined to figure out why that was. Off-the-record. “Are you thinking about signing up for my neuropsychology class at the university here?”

Ginko propped his backpack against the armchair. “Probably not. This thing is I’m here studying abroad for only another semester,” he said. “I checked your class. It’s already full.”

“It’s a popular class,” Adashino said. “Not that I'm biased.”

Ginko nodded and rested his chin on his hand. “I figured.”

Adashino let the silence hang while Ginko fixated on the wall past him. Eventually, Adashino looked around, following his gaze.

“Those flowers on your desk,” Ginko said. “They’re nice.”

“You think so?” Adashino said, not terribly interested in talking about flowers, but if it was what Ginko wanted to talk about then it was in his best interest to go along with it. “A woman was selling them on the corner earlier today.”

“For your wife?” Ginko asked.

Adashino sent Ginko a narrowed look

“Girlfriend,” Ginko tried again.

There was a long pause during which Adashino stared at him. Then he lowered his head.

“Boyfriend?”

Adashino raised his head, unamused, which was a stark contrast to the cool and amused look Ginko had in his eyes. Adashino smiled, though he was certain it did not reach his eyes. “If you came here today to ask me to fit you into my class next semester, I hope you’re keeping your expectations low.”

Ginko laughed, but his laugh wasn’t pleasant. “To be honest I’m here today because I think I may be able to help you.”

“You’re here to help me.” Adashino murmured, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Is that right?”

Despite the claim, Ginko did not look terribly concerned. “Have you been noticing anything strange? Something you can’t explain. A feeling that you’ve lived through a present situation before, even.”

“A feeling of déjà vu,” Adashino concluded. “Most people experience it at least once in their lifetime.”

Ginko shook his head. “This is more than that. It’s as if you remembered a part of a dream you had and never remembered until that moment. You can be in a place you’ve never been before or meet someone that you’ve never seen before and it triggers a memory. Little parallels like that. You know what I mean?”

Adashino nodded. “I take it you are experiencing these triggers frequently,” he said.

“It’s happening right now,” Ginko said. 

Adashino gave him a weak smile. “Maybe what you’re recalling is a short term memory linked to a long term memory,” he said. 

Ginko stared directly at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Why don’t you tell me why you wanted to see me today,” Adashino said. “I want to hear more about how you’re going to help me.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you now,” Ginko told him. “You’re skeptical about anything I’m saying as it is.”

Adashino decided to turn it into a challenge. A bet: “Try me.”

Ginko smirked, but his expression remained wary. “You’re being followed by something very few people can see.”

Adashino made a mental note of this. _Hallucinations, check._

“You can’t see them,” Ginko realized. He leaned into the armchair, arched his spine around the backrest and stared at the ceiling. “I thought since...” his voice drifted. “I wonder what attracts them to you.”

Elbows across his knees, Adashino leaned forward, propping his head in his hands. _Delusions. Paranoia. It could be temporal lobe epilepsy or some sort of undiagnosed psychosis, maybe._ He needed more information. “Describe them to me. Can you only see them or can you hear them too?”

“Depends.” Ginko seemed to have come to some sort of self-realization. He dipped his head forward briefly and the swing of his hair hid his eyes for a moment, until he looked back up, coolheaded and poised. “Coming here was a mistake.”

“What makes you say that?” 

The silence between them remained warm and good-natured. “You already believe I’m crazy,” Ginko said.

“No I don’t.” A number of explanations could explain what was happening. It was possible Ginko had an undiagnosed brain tumor for instance. That could explain everything from the hallucinations to these beliefs that were not based in reality to these grandiose delusions that Ginko was still here to help Adashino. “Let me ask you. Have you ever had an MRI or CT scan?”

Ginko stared at him, cold and unamused. “I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Adashino scratched the nape of his neck. “Alright.” He ruffled his hands through his unkempt hair and sighed. “You said I’m being followed. Tell me what is following me.”

“Whatever it is exists somewhere between life and death. It’s hard to describe what it is exactly.”

“Okay.” Adashino was genuinely fascinated. “Tell me more.”

“It’s life in its purest form,” Ginko continued.

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Adashino said.

“It’s not good for you to have them following you like this,” Ginko told him. His expression was flat. “They can make you unwell even if that’s not their intention. Their effects can still be dangerous.”

Adashino was willing to go along with this. “How do I stop them then.”

Ginko visibly relaxed then and retrieved a steel cigarette case from his backpack. This was a textbook addictive reflex if Adashino had ever seen one. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Adashino abruptly stopped him. “The last thing I need is for you to set off the fire alarms here.”

Ginko made an exasperated noise and pulled the collar of his flannel higher. He snapped the case shut. “This isn’t helping,” he said. 

Adashino did not quite follow what Ginko was trying to say so he remained quiet. _Who is supposed to be helping who now?_

Ginko nodded apologetically then, regret tangled up with exhaustion and satisfaction. He took an unlit cigarette in his fingers, shrugged one strap of his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the door. “Maybe I should go.”

“No, wait.” Adashino couldn’t let Ginko leave like this. “The hell with it.” Cool sunlight streamed in from the open nearby window. He grabbed the velvet curtain behind him, getting to his feet. Peach silk lined the cream velvet curtain. He pinned it behind a brass hook. Stale rainwater still stained the glass. When Adashino unlatched the panels and yanked them open, the damp October air blew in a cool breeze. Noises of traffic and people and plain old city life came with it. 

“Sit.” Adashino directed Ginko to come away from the door. “Smoke here. Do whatever it is you need to do.”

There was a flicker of light in Ginko’s eyes. “Thanks.” 

Ginko turned his attention to the chrysanthemums on his desk when he passed. He ran his fingers across the butterscotch and honey tips. A petal fluttered to the carpeted floor. Ginko rubbed his forehead with one hand when he sat in his chair. “You have nice things in here,” he said.

Adashino leaned across his desk and flipped the switch on the lamp. It cast the room in amber light. His eyes squinted against the warm incandescent light. “It’s a hobby,” he shrugged.

“Interior decorating?”

Adashino snorted. “Collecting.”

“What else do you collect?”

“Anything I want.”

Ginko lit a cigarette and inhaled, breathing out smoke, which dissipated into the open air. “These things I see…” he paused. There was a brief flick of his eyes as he turned his attention out the window. Headlights of cars crossed the rain-soaked streets below.

Adashino waited and watched as Ginko tugged the sleeve of his flannel. He was patient when he needed to be. 

“...I can’t ever seem to get away,” Ginko murmured.

“Have you considered these things you see may be hallucinations.”

“When I was younger,” Ginko reflected. “They’re not.”

“Let’s talk about that.” Adashino may not get another opening like this again. “About when you were younger.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“Can’t recall?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s fine. Tell me what you can remember.”

Ginko flicked his cigarette against the window sill and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Waking up in an orphanage.”

“That’s where you grew up?”

“Not always, no. I was always being sent between there and foster homes.”

Adashino reached for a notepad in this drawer.

Ginko was quick to notice. “Taking notes?”

”A few.”

Ginko took another drag from his cigarette. He stopped talking altogether. It was as if he was reconsidering what he should say next, so Adashino put the notepad face down. 

“Is that okay with you?”

“Mhmm.” Ginko seemed indifferent to it. 

“Good.” Adashino jotted down the date.

Ginko’s eyebrows raised and he leaned back into his chair. “What did you write?” he asked, genuinely intrigued.

Adashino held his pen, tipping the end of it against his lower lips and grinning wide enough to show teeth. “Nothing important.”

“I see.”

A deep sigh from Adashino broke the intense silence. He kept his eyes wide for some semblance of honesty to show though. “I could recommend you speak to a professional.”

“You’re a professional.”

“I’m not speaking to you now as a professional. This is just us talking. A professional could prescribe you something that might help.”

“I’ve been prescribed everything. Nothing helps.”

Adashino leaned forward with a frown. “You’re not taking anything now?”

Ginko sat a little straighter then looked around as if remembering where he was. “No.”

“That’s fine.” Adashino let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “How are you sleeping at night?”

“Fine.”

The dark circles around Ginko’s eyes said otherwise. Adashino tapped his pen on the clean white pad of paper. Clipped under the pad were prescription slips. He ran his thumb over those and considered something.

Ginko tossed the question back at him. He was leaning forward now, eyes troubled. “How about you?”

Adashino resented that question as he wiped the water from the corners of his eyes with the pad of his thumb, trying to conceal a yawn. “Fine…” another yawn, a palm smearing across his mouth. “Just fine...thank you.”

Ginko adopted a bit of humor and a half-formed smile. “Liar.”

Adashino shrugged, slightly unnerved being under reserved scrutiny like this. “I had a late night,” he admitted. That much was true. “I’d rather we not talk about it anymore.”

“Why not?” Ginko asked. “Are you hiding something?”

Adashino gave him a look. “I want to hear about you.”

“I’m not your patient,” Ginko murmured with keen eyes, cigarette bobbing between his lips as he spoke. “Like you said we’re just talking.” There was an honest tenor to his voice. He took the cigarette out of his mouth then and his green eyes narrowed, gaze fixed onto a point behind Adashino.

Adashino turned around. 

“Hey,” Ginko said, voice soft. “Close your eyes.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you then.” Ginko took a long pull of his cigarette then and blew it in his direction. 

_“Ginko!”_ Adashino stamped his foot and made a noise that was something between a squeak mixed with a hacking cough. Smoke hovered in whorls around them. It contained a strange scent. Something herbal and heady. He swatted the smoke around them and grabbed Ginko by the arm, plucked the lit cigarette out of his fingers and threw it out the window. “What the hell?!”

Ginko went still, not even breathing when he locked eyes with Adashino. “At least they’re gone,” he said. “For now.”

Adashino leaned back into his own personal space. “Your hallucinations?”

“They aren’t hallucinations.” Ginko told him solemnly. “Smoke disperses them. Tonight you should be able to rest easy again, but they will be back. I can help teach you how to—”

“This is ridiculous.” Adashino flipped his notepad revealing the prescription slips. He stopped. Inside his office, he kept a limited stock of antidepressants and antianxiety pills. Nothing to ease symptoms of grandiose delusions and hallucinations. Not that he should pass them out to Ginko if he had. He threw the notepad onto his desk. 

“You’re in my way. Go over there,” Adashino said forcibly grabbing the chair on either side of Ginko and wheeling him away from the window. Adashino nodded towards an ornate sofa pressed against the far wall. “Lie down. I’m going to bring you something.”

“If you insist,” Ginko said. He did as he was told, lying across the sofa and folding his arms across his chest, head resting back onto the cool leather of the armrest. Eyes were wide open, he watched the ceiling as if enamored by the drywall above him.

“You were at Tanyuu Karibusa’s lecture last month.” Ginko said as Adashino prepared a cool damp cloth and glass of water. “I first noticed them being drawn to you then.”

“Yes. I remember,” Adashino acknowledged. “The lecture, that is. She’s done extensive research on psychosis intervention. I was hoping for the chance to talk to her after her session. Apparently so did everybody else. I never got the chance.”

“I was only there because she asked me to come,” Ginko said.

Adashino was standing over him now, glass of water in one hand and damp cloth in the other. “ _Tanyuu_ invited you?”

“I used to be her patient,” Ginko explained. “I would tell her things. She would listen and write them down. Nothing ever changed. Nothing ever got better.”

“Maybe there was nothing wrong with you,” Adashino suggested, kneeling beside him now. 

“Or there was nothing she could do,” Ginko admitted.

In the resulting silence, Ginko drew in an unsteady breath.

Adashino warned him next. “I’m going to place this damp towel over your eyes, is that alright?”

Ginko nodded, asking nevertheless. “Why?”

“Think of it as an exercise in sensory deprivation.”

“Go ahead.”

Adashino covered his eyes. “Rest there. Stay here for as long as you like. I have administrative work to get done. If you need anything, I’ll be right here.”

Ginko pinched a corner of the damp cloth over his face and lifted it to reveal one eye. “I’m not interrupting you, am I? If I am, I could leave.”

“No.” Adashino insisted. “Stay right there.” He set the glass of water across a sofa table behind him. It would be within reach. “I’ll check in on you later. Water is there for you.”

Ginko glanced at him sidelong, his mouth a tight thin line. He dropped the cloth back over his face and resigned himself to laying there. “What’s in it?”

“Nothing but pure bottled H2O,” Adashino said. “With a few electrolytes.”

“I think I’d rather have a scotch.”

Adashino snorted. “You and me both.”

Ginko went remarkably still then. 

Adashino took a step back. “Wait.” He started to drop his hands to his side but brought them forward once again. “Let me fix this for you.” 

“Mm’kay,” Ginko murmured, consenting to something he could not know.

Adashino lifted the damp cloth and brushed his fingers through Ginko’s hair, tucking stray white strands past the top of his head. Adashino dropped his hand as quickly as he had raised it along with the damp cloth. “Better?”

Ginko made a low sound in his throat, something like a hum. He tilted his head back when Adashino pulled back. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Adashino snorted. He walked away, positioning himself behind his desk and cracked open his laptop. The screen lit with windows showing him a barrage of unanswered emails and bookmarked research papers. His hands moved swiftly across his laptop keyboard. He closed down everything and opened a fresh tab. 

Their department had access to a vast digital array of academic journals and scholarly content. In the search bar, he typed: _paranoid schizophrenia._

He scrolled through the many articles and journals that appeared, plenty which he had already read before today. After a while, his computer pinged. A chat window popped up. 

> eli: let’s get dinner together after work. i still owe you.
> 
> adashino: working late. got an unusual case.
> 
> eli: mino’s ex-patient?

Adashino tried to play dumb.

> adashino: what?
> 
> eli: ginko. he's with you now right?

So much for doctor-patient confidentiality. The gossip that spread through this faculty was unreal. 

Fingers poised over the keys, Adashino dropped his gaze down to his ankles. He blinked. Ginko had left his backpack here. Reaching his fingers under the haul strap, Adashino placed it in his lap. 

_Damn, it was heavy._

Despite his better judgment and ignoring every violation of privacy he was about to break, Adashino shamelessly went exploring through it.

It was brimming with books. Mostly textbooks. There was a paperback copy of _Gravity’s Rainbow._ A leather wallet. On the back of it was a famous Tolkien quote of _‘Not all those who wander are lost.’_ There was a pocketknife. _Multiple knives._ Loose coins. And an unmarked prescription pill bottle that had been filled, which caught Adashino’s attention the most. 

Ginko remained on the sofa laying completely still. 

Adashino returned his belongings as they were and set the backpack where he found it—except for the prescription bottle. That he tucked under his forearm. He stepped away from his computer then, taking his notepad and leaving the message from Eli unanswered.

He knelt next to Ginko. There was a sudden rush of bitter oranges and sea salt and underneath that, something sweet and smokey, like roasted vanilla beans and juniper.

“Hey,” Adashino spoke softly. “How are you feeling?”

“A little tired,” Ginko replied and he indeed sounded drained, speaking in a barely-there voice. Sensory deprivation tended to make one drowsy.

“That’s to be expected,” Adashino replied. It wasn’t that Ginko had been unmanageable before this, but now that Ginko was prevented from making visual observations and asking questions of his own, Adashino hoped he could get more information out of him. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Go ahead.”

“Earlier you were telling me about these things you can see and hear.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you hear them now?”

“Yes.”

“What do you hear?”

“I suppose…” Damp cloth still draped over his eyes, Ginko raised a hand overhead, rotating his wrist as if trying to describe the sound. “The sound of light. If you can imagine what that could be like, it would be something like it.”

Other than the whir of the heater and the occasional sound of a passing vehicle outside, Adashino heard nothing. “These sounds of light,” he said. “Are they as clear and loud as my voice?”

“Sometimes.”

Adashino backpedaled for a moment. “Do you hear voices too or is it only noise?”

Ginko paused for a beat longer than necessary. “No, I don’t hear voices,” he said, tugging the damp cloth off his face, staring at Adashino with something near criticism in his eyes. He lifted his head slightly. His hair fell back into his eyes. “And I’m not delusional.”

Adashino rocked back on his heels, putting space between them. “But you do see how someone would consider this to be peculiar hallucinatory behavior.”

“I guess.”

“Good,” Adashino said. “Then you’re not _that_ delusional.”

Ginko reached for the glass of water Adashino had given him, but he did not drink it. Instead he rolled the cool side of the glass over his face.

“You said you aren’t taking any medication,” Adashino said.

“That’s right.”

Adashino held out the prescription bottle between them, clasped between his thumb and index finger. “Then explain this.”

Ginko’s eyes darted from the bottle to his backpack, which was where he last left it before turning to Adashino. “Where did you get that?”

Adashino jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Where do you think?”  
  
“It’s not for me,” Ginko said.

“Ah,” Adashino nodded, not believing a word of it. Half-joking, he quipped, “You’re dealing prescriptions then?”

Ginko made a grab for the bottle then, but Adashino’s reflexes were quicker. He held them out of Ginko’s grasp and opened the bottle, spilling a pill into his palm. 

“Hey!” Ginko made another snatch for them.

Adashino jumped to his feet. On his desk was a pair of reading glasses. He grabbed them to examine the pill more closely. It wasn’t an antidepressant or any other type of antipsychotic he could recognize.

“It’s arthritis medicine,” Ginko calmly explained then. “For my cat.”

Adashino blinked. Then he laughed, rubbing his face in amused frustration. “You’re kidding.”

Ginko _glared_ while Adashino blushed. 

Feeling utterly embarrassed, Adashino bowed his head in a silent apology and placed the prescription bottle on his desk. “Well!” he said, clapping his hands together. “I really should get going along. How would you feel about coming back tomorrow?”

Ginko visibly relaxed. “Would that be okay?”

“I mean...” Adashino was taken by surprise that Ginko would _want_ to return. “Yeah. I have a few appointments in the morning but I’ll be here tomorrow, same time.”

Ginko smiled softly.

Adashino handed him his belongings in return. “And if you still want a seat in my class, I’ll see what I can do to fit you in next semester.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Good. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”


	2. The Taste of Twilight

_Like light in my veins_   
_Darkness is sinking_   
_Darkness is sinking me_   
_Commanding my soul_   
_I am under the surface_   
_Where the blackness burns beneath_

_\- ruelle_

.

.

.

The sun dimly hung in the dusky sky, the evening breeze carrying the taste of cooler air.

There was no doubt about it. Adashino was drawn to them. Or more like the _mushi_ were drawn to _him_.

“Mushi,” Ginko breathed the word through the wisps of smoke he blew past his lips. That’s what he dubbed them. It felt instinctively familiar and appropriate. He stubbed the end of his cigarette against the iron staircase winding up to the second floor of his apartment.

Chai looked up from her windowsill. She mewed when Ginko locked the door behind him and eyed him sleepily while Ginko arranged his belongings.

The apartment was small. A cream-colored sofa was pressed against the brick-exposed wall. Pillows piled across it were tattered and frayed. Cotton stuffing poofed from the seams where Chai had clawed her way into it.

Ginko did not ignore the mushi that lingered high overhead. A chain of them were wrapped around his ceiling fan. There were more of them now. It was only a matter of time before Ginko would have to move again.

“Brought you something,” Ginko spoke to Chai softly, shaking a paper bag in his hand containing her arthritis pills. Resting across the windowsill were more mushi of a different variety which Ginko gathered into his palm. They pooled into his palm rested there, shimmering slightly in the glow of their own light.

Chai looked deeply unamused and mewed loudly at the bag.

“I know, girl. I know.” Ginko replied gently, cracking open the window and brushing the mushi outside. They floated into the night. 

It would do no good to give Chai the medicine now. He would have to wait until she was sleeping. 

Resting on his coffee table was a laptop. He tapped the keys, waking it up. What he intended to do was study but what he found in his inbox instead was an email from Tanyuu Karibusa:

> “Ginko --
> 
> It’s been a while. I hope you’re doing well. In three days, I’ll be going home to Yokohama. Before I go there’s a book I wanted you to have. Where are you living now? I’ll have it mailed to your address.”
> 
> \-- Tanyuu”

Ginko blinked at his screen in wonder. He wrote back with the address to his apartment. It was a sublet.

Tanyuu wrote back to him almost immediately.

> “Thanks, Ginko --
> 
> Always remember.
> 
> \-- Tanyuu”

Ginko closed his eyes and fell lengthwise across the sofa, dangling his feet over the armrest. The sofa was too small but he never stayed long enough in the same place for that to matter.

He lost himself in dreamless thoughts, unable to sleep too deeply. All his life he had been a light sleeper. During the hours he was awake, he spent the time working on an essay for class. 

Sleep. 

Wake again. 

Contemplate the idea of writing an email to Adashino informing him that he wouldn’t be able to see him the following day as they had agreed. He didn’t want to appear this tired every time they saw one another.

It was 4 AM when Ginko grabbed his coat and took a walk. It was never completely dark in the city. Even with bus headlights and towering highrises with neon-lit signs illuminating the night with its technicolor glow, there were always the mushi. They glimmered brighter than the stars themselves. If Ginko closed his eyes and focused on the river of light that he knew they were all connected to, he could feel himself withering in the toxicity of its light.

Ginko walked through the city and focused on the river of light he could always see behind shut lids.

Tonight he walked close to the light. A little too close then he probably should have. No matter how far he traveled, the river of light never changed; as far as he was aware this was a light that manifested only to him.

Sometimes the most real things in this world were the things that couldn’t always be seen. 

It was no wonder Ginko had been passed around from place to place. From doctor to psychiatrist to doctor. From group home to foster home to group home until he could finally be left alone.

A car zipped past him, screeched and skid to avoid hitting him. 

Ginko snapped his eyes open and blinked, disoriented. The mushi were unusually bright here. The driver of the car rolled down his window and shouted. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

Ginko stepped away from the street. He lit a cigarette, wandering further from his apartment. It was after dawn when he made it back home. By then he was tired and feeling a little sick from walking so close to the light. 

He crashed across his sofa.

Chai mewed softly at him and curled beneath his feet.

Resting on the coffee table was a bottle of sleeping meds. Ginko swallowed a couple dry. When he finally closed his eyes again he no longer saw the light. 

He saw nothing at all.

.

.

.

“You did _what?_ ” Adashino demanded.

Ginko blinked blearily at Adashino. His reading glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose. They were designer. He looked over the top of the frame. 

“I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Wandering the streets at 4 AM isn’t safe around these parts.”

Telling Adashino that he could take care of himself seemed moot. A beat of silence passed between them and Adashino was no longer watching him. His face was angled down facing an open notepad in his lap, studying what he had written there.

Ginko did not like the direction this conversation was going. It was turning too doctor-patient for his liking.

“I like those glasses,” Ginko thought to say then. “They’re nice.”

Adashino straightened and self-consciously traced the pad of his thumb across the frame. Ginko expected him to remove them then. But Adashino brushed aside some loose hair and ignored the remark.

Ginko settled back into his armchair. He strummed his fingers across the die-cast aluminum frame.

“I could write you a prescription,” Adashino offered. After a beat, he further explained. “For the insomnia.”

“I thought we were here just to talk.”

“We are,” Adashino agreed.

“Do you often take notes when talking to other people?”

Adashino tousled his fingers through his hair and set his notepad down. He removed his glasses then, setting them across it. “What I’m saying is I could do this for you _as_ your doctor,” he explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If you wanted one.”

“Thanks, but no.” Ginko said. “No more doctors.”

It was this office, Ginko observed. Adashino’s office festered with mushi. _What drew so many of them here?_ They clung to the corners of the room and snaked around the furniture. At least Adashino seemed unaffected by its presence. Not everyone was as fortunate although sometimes the symptoms weren’t apparent until it was too late. 

Ginko could not yet tell if the mushi were drawn to this space or if they were attracted to Adashino. Either way, he did not like it.

“We should get out of here.” Ginko proposed. “Take a walk.”

“What, right now?”

Ginko was already on his feet. “Yeah. This place is where you talk to your patients—”

“—not only my patients. My colleagues and students too.”

“Well I’m not any of those.”

Adashino leaned his chin into his hands, elbows on his knees. He studied the wall in front of him. “Where do you want to go?”

“Doesn’t matter. We can walk around the building.”

Adashino gave him a long look, placid and thoughtful. “It’s the hallucinations. You’re bothered by them here, aren’t you?”

Any answer Ginko gave at this point would be fruitless. “No.”

“Right,” Adashino murmured as if he had expected that answer. “They’re not hallucinations.” 

“That’s right.”

“It would help me understand what’s troubling you if you spoke more about these—“ he toyed with a better word before settling on: “ _Manifestations_.”

Ginko gave him a long look, then smiled a little and shook his head and said nothing. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

“Alright.” Adashino did not sound particularly thrilled to suggest what he did next, but he did. “There’s a coffee shop down the block from here,” he said, reaching for his coat. The wool was dark navy blue. It had been unceremoniously discarded across his desk. “Let’s go.”

Distantly, thunder rumbled.

The wind gusted around them, its edge cold and humid. A late-autumn rain fell as they walked down the length of campus. It was a seeping sort of wet that slicked the sidewalks and asphalt with a sheen of frost.

Adashino fussed with an umbrella until it opened and he stepped out in the rain, placing it over both their heads.

A frigid gust picked up and hair at the back of Ginko’s neck raised. A chill slid down his spine. His eyes ached, and Ginko blamed it on his own careless actions from the night before. The light that emanated from the river was toxic when looked at too long. 

He really should know better by now.

“What made you want to go into psychiatry?” Ginko asked out of curiosity. As he kept pace with Adashino, rain struck his face. He wiped water from his eyes.

“I went into medicine first,” Adashino replied. “Later focused on neuropsychology.”

“I see."

“That reminds me. There’s an opening for my neuropsychology class if you’re still interested.”

“I am."

“Good! I’ll fit you in.”

Ginko smiled softly. 

The coffee shop was warm and filled with people and books. There were no available tables so Ginko and Adashino stood under a white awning on their front porch instead. Adashino bought their coffee. It was in small paper cups, the color of pale golden amber with the café’s logo stamped along the side.

“Mmm.” Ginko hummed and took a cautious sip, trying not to screw up his whole face. He gave up being stoic after a beat and grimaced.

Adashino was looking at him fixedly and flicked his eyes away when their eyes met. His gaze drifted across the length of Ginko’s folded arm, catching on the cup that Ginko now held warmly against his chest. “You don’t like the coffee?”

“To be honest, I’ve never really been a coffee drinker.”

There was a pause. "You could've told me."

Ginko smiled and nodded. “What are you drinking?” 

“Tea.” Adashino said. He leaned forward and waved the open cup enticingly under Ginko’s nose. The steam was scented faintly with lavender, smoke and bergamot. “Earl grey. It’s good.”

Ginko looked at him blankly. Adashino held his hand outstretched for Ginko to take it. They exchanged cups.

“Thanks,” Ginko said. He drank from it. And it _was_ good. 

Adashino cleared his throat and tilted his head down, rubbing the back of his neck. He glared at the coffee now in his hands and drank from it. 

“I wanted to ask you about these…” There was a visible effort not to use that word _hallucinations_. “Manifestations of yours.”

“Ah.” Ginko realized then, sipping the tea, absorbed in his own thoughts. Adashino was studying him—had been all along. There was a strangely familiar feeling to this. It was comfortable. “What would you like to know?”

“Are they here now?”

Ginko cast a glance over the skyline, rain-soaked steel, and brick buildings. Gnarled branches of bare trees lined between them. The mushi cohabited every reach of life. They weren’t ever _not_ present but none were near them now that he could see. “No.”

"Good." Adashino stood a careful distance away from him, arms crossed. There was a gleam in his eyes. “If we waited here long enough then, would you eventually see them?”

“Eventually," Ginko said.

Rain continued to fall in driving torrents, pattering across the overhead awning. Ginko did not look at Adashino, but in his peripheral vision, he saw a mushi float past them. It settled itself comfortably across Adashino’s left shoulder before nestling itself into the fabric of the wool a little more than Ginko liked. The light this particular mushi emanated glistened like dew drops.

Before he realized it, Ginko was reaching for his shoulder.

Adashino raised his eyebrows at him, then tilted his head and looked at a point beyond him. Something in the distance had caught his attention.

Ginko pulled away.

“Mino, hey.” Adashino was quick to greet the woman standing behind them. 

Ginko looked at her, and she nodded at him without acknowledging the fact they knew one another. The grey of the sky was starting to turn into a dark blue behind her.

Ginko reached for a cigarette.

“Rather late for coffee, isn’t it?” Mino greeted. She nodded toward Ginko. Her hollow eyes stared right through him. Mino had been the last doctor Ginko had seen. They hadn’t parted on good terms.

“Eh. I have a late night,” Adashino replied. He covered the back of his hand over his mouth, coughing slightly.

“You work too hard,” she said, laughing lightheartedly. Mino eyed Ginko silently. It was a signal to leave.

Ginko took the hint. He blew smoke over Adashino’s left shoulder. The mushi that had settled there scuttled away.

“I should get going,” Ginko told them, adjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ah, Ginko!” Adashino stopped him before it was too late. “Same time tomorrow?”

Ginko smiled. “Same time.”

.

.

.

“New patient?” Mino asked.

Adashino shrugged and gulped down the coffee. He needed this conversation with Mino like he needed a mallet to the brain. “Ginko’s a student.”

Mino seemed bewildered by that.

“Does that surprise you?”

“You expect me to believe you give all your students individual attention like that.”

"Depends."

Mino rolled her eyes. “Not any of my business. Just remember what I told you about him.”

“Patient-doctor confidentiality, Mino. Where are your ethics.”

“Before you start patronizing me on ethics, why don’t you start remembering your own.”

Adashino shrugged and took another sip from the coffee. There was the faintest taste of lemon lip balm on the brim. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mino rolled her eyes. She brushed her fingers through her hair and dragged the full length of it over her shoulder and shot him an innocent look. “You like him.”

“He’s a likable guy.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Adashino was not amused by the direction this conversation was taking.

Mino slapped Adashino across the shoulder. “Lighten up, Adashino.”

“This behavior of yours Mino is exactly why no one in faculty takes you seriously. It’s unbecoming.”

“Unnerving you mean.”

Adashino reluctantly agreed, cracking his neck and then wincing.

Mino leaned back on the heels of her feet, smiling earnestly at him. “How is Ginko?”

“Your concern for his welfare is touching, Mino.”

“Don't be mad I broke up your date.”

"Don't push it."

“Fine.” Mino pandered to his ego for that moment. “I’m sorry to have interrupted an entirely professional session with one of your students.”

“Are you quite finished?”

“Almost,” Mino said. “I did want to talk to you about a more serious related matter.”

Adashino straightened his shoulders. At the end of the day, Mino was a well-studied psychiatrist. She was well-versed in academia and took her job seriously even if her judgment could be questionable at times. She was inconsistent in her practice and struggled to apply lessons to real-life scenarios in a way that always made sense to Adashino.

“Alright,” he invited.

“Remember when we were at Karibusa’s lecture last month? And I first pointed Ginko out to you.”

“Sure do.”

“I was surprised to see him because while he was my patient, he was living on the streets.”

It was not a topic that had come up between him and Ginko and perhaps it never would. “He was homeless?" 

“He was getting by,” Mino assured him. "Couch surfing between places when he could."

"Interesting.”

“It had paranoid schizophrenia,” Mino concluded. “At least that’s what I wrote in his file. It was enough to get him proper care and shelter.”

“You mean you had him committed,” Adashino realized. “Was it voluntary?”

“It was a temporary commitment arrangement,” Mino tried to explain herself. “For his own safety.”

"Jesus." Adashino threw her a look of unspeakable contempt. “You had him _involuntarily_ committed.”

“It’s not as if I put him into immediate detention.”

The answer was still the same and the truth left a knot in the pit of his stomach. No wonder Ginko did not trust doctors.

“Well I should get back,” Adashino told her, sounding very tired. He could only tolerate so much of Mino in a single day. “I have a stack of paperwork on my desk that has been piling all day. Eli will be on my case all week if I don’t have it done by tomorrow.” He rubbed at his temple and looked down at Mino who watched him, hands shoved in her pockets. “You know what a stickler he is when it comes to this administrative beaurocrap.”

Mino took a deep breath and nodded.

The rain curtained and rippled across the streets. It sluiced down his open umbrella and fell in sheets to the pavement. In a few more days all this rain would all be snow and ice.

Once Adashino made it back to his office, he unbuttoned his coat and tossed it unceremoniously across his desk. He wiped rainwater from his eyes and collapsed across the ornate sofa pressed against the far wall, eyes fixated on the ceiling

It wasn’t any of his business, Adashino kept telling himself. And yet...

...he couldn’t shake the feeling that with the weather turning colder, Ginko may be without shelter. Walking the streets the previous night at 4 AM made Adashino more suspicious as to how secure his living arrangements really were now.

_Where was he?_

And there was something too familiar about _that_. It was as if this hadn't been the first time Adashino found himself wondering about Ginko's whereabouts in this context.

"Goddamn déjà vu," he murmured.

Surely Ginko would have a phone number registered with the university. Adashino swung his legs to the floor and tapped his desk computer awake. A quick directory search retrieved a phone number belonging to Ginko.

He punched the number into his phone but before he could dial, Adashino stopped himself. 

This call would be completely unwarranted. Inappropriate, even.

Adashino saved the contact in his phone and threw the device across his desk. It careened into a stack of papers left lovingly for him by Eli. He was too late to prevent the paperwork from cascading down his desk and across the floor. Adashino threw his head back and groaned.

This was going to be a long night.

Adashino leaned down to scooped up the fallen paperwork and collected half of it when suddenly, it occurred to him what he was going to do next.

He was going to pull up Ginko's medical file.


	3. The Sight of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the weekend I heard Yuki Urushibara will publish a new Mushishi chapter next month. This pretty much made my week considering I had come to terms that there wouldn't be new Mushishi material for the rest of my life. I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read and comment. Only a couple of chapters left I've planned out here. I'll be quicker on these remaining updates.

_It is the barely-visible stars which sharpen our eyesight. - Henry Stanley Haskins_

.

.

.

“Good morning!” Eli greeted with a morning person voice that immediately made Adashino want to go back to sleep for the rest of that day out of spite. 

Eli was the department dean. He swept through Adashino’s office with large curious eyes, a cup of coffee clutched in his hands. “Sleep here in your office again, did you?”

Whatever expression Adashino wore pinched into a frown. His head was throbbing. He made a couple of gestures with his hands, unable to stall for a better excuse. “Finished all this paperwork you needed from me. The least you could do is bring me coffee.”

“Got you, homie,” Eli whisked away the stacks of paper and replaced the bare spot on his desk with a fresh cup of hot coffee. “Eli does not come empty-handed. He comes bearing gifts.”

Adashino played along. “My lucky day.”

“Department meeting in an hour.” Eli reminded him, tapping the watch on his wrist. “Be ready.”

“I’ll be _bright-eyed._ ”

“That’s the spirit!” Eli flipped through the paperwork and studied a few additional forms that Adashino had submitted closer. “Eh? This is a formal request to add…” Eli shook a form loose from the stack and casually examined it closer. His voice sounded almost tired when he read the name. “...Ginko—? You want Ginko enrolled for your class next semester.”

“Yeah, that’s right...” Adashino churned the words slowly over in his sleep-deprived mind before explaining further. “This will be his last semester here. Make sure he has a seat in my class.”

“There’s quite the waitlist already.”

“He’s here abroad.”

Eli took a deep breath and shifted his feet. “This was Mino’s patient, wasn’t it?”

“I believe he was, yes.”

When Eli raised his gaze from the form, the unamused look in his eyes softened. “You realize I only let you take advantage of me this way because you’re the best damn shrink in this department. You know that, right?”

“This backhanded flattery leads me to suspect you want something from me, Eli.”

Eli shook Ginko’s enrollment form between them. “I’ll make this happen,” he said. “You don’t get too involved with this Ginko-character, got it? Bad things tend to follow him wherever he goes.”

“You always were the superstitious type, but I assure you your concern is unwarranted.”

Eli chuckled. “Mino seems to suspect otherwise.”

Adashino smiled in return with his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. “Mino has always been predisposed to believing the worst.”

“Well, you may have a point there,” Eli laughed, leaving the door open as he exited his office, “but know this–” he called back. “Ginko has a reputation. There’s no superstition in that.”

Adashino rolled his eyes and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He tapped his fingers across his desk. Fog glazed the window behind him, corners polished with frost where the fog condensed. The clouds were a thin pale grey above the skyline of concrete and steel. Strips of pale blue and sunlight filtered through between it all.

Ginko was an exceptional student. He excelled in nearly every class he had been enrolled in while here. It was his medical history that was particularly disconcerting. For one thing, there was a psychiatric advance directive on his patient file. In the event Ginko would be unable to make treatment decisions for himself, he had a person named to make those treatment decisions for him:

_Tanyuu Karibusa._

.

.

.

“They’re attracted to you.”

Ginko rested across the sofa in his office when he said it, arms stretched above his arms, forearms resting over the cool leather of the armrest. His eyes remained fixated on the ceiling drywall. “I’m sure of it.”

Adashino pinched the slim silver pen in his hand, dragging the pads of his fingers towards the ballpoint. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

Ginko took a deep breath and winced, rubbing the corner of his temple as if to soothe a budding headache. “I don’t like it.”

Adashino poised his pen over a blank page. “Why?”

Ginko laid staring at the ceiling, eyes widening as if remembering a distant memory that was beginning to resurface. He sat up very straight then.

Adashino fixated on the way Ginko looked at him: cold and calculating, pensive.

Adashino prompted him to speak what was on his mind. “What is it?”

Ginko clammed up, deflecting with, "It’s nothing. I just—" Another pause. “It’s nothing.”

It was time Adashino approached this from another angle.

There was more Ginko was not telling him. It was time Adashino approached this conversation from another angle. “How is your living situation?”

A slightly grim smile passed over his lips. “Fine,” he replied. Ginko reached for his cigarettes but seemed to remember where he was, and stopped. He made a face and sniffed experimentally. “It’s stable.” 

Adashino raised his gaze, shoulders tense. “I hear different.”

Ginko raised his eyebrows at him. He tilted his head, gaze drifting momentarily out the fogged-frosted window before giving Adashino a sideways look. “Mino tell you that, did she?”

“Interesting you would insinuate that,” Adashino told him, relaxing back into his chair, though his lip caught on his teeth in some betrayal of apprehension to continue. “You should know there are financial resources available to students if they’re in need of room and board here, and if you are in need of help—”

Ginko leaned further back into the sofa and frowned at the ceiling. “There’s no need for this,” he said. “The truth is I will be moving soon. I’ve never been able to remain in the same place for too long.”

Adashino studied him doubtfully. “Because of these manifestations?”

Ginko blinked back at him, eyes a subdued, stinging green—like bittersweet tea. “It’s the mushi.”

“You’ve given these manifestations a _name_.”

Ginko shook his head and looked at the floor. He huffed out a laugh. “They’ve always been known as that.” His white hair spilled over his eyes. He looked up through his hair. “I had a foster mother when I was a young boy,” he started. “She had a ranch upstate. She called them _Midorimono_ —and I understand why she did.”

“She could see these things as well?”

“No, but she still knew. She always seemed to suspect their presence, especially if the cattle started acting strangely.”

“How so?”

Ginko shrugged.

Adashino tapped his pen against the clean white pad of paper resting perched on one knee. “Did you enjoy living there?” he asked.

“I never got too attached to one place.”

“That appears to still be the case.”

“It always will be,” Ginko replied mildly. 

Adashino wrote that one down, which seemed to give the other pause. Ginko looked at the pad now with a slightly ill, concerned expression. 

“How’s your cat?” Adashino asked.

“My _cat?_ ” Ginko drew his elbows to rest against his knees and tucked his hair behind his head, shoulders hunched. “Surely that’s not what you really want to know.”

Adashino drew in a breath, setting his pad of paper and pen aside. “You’re right,” he said, his voice a little tight. “What I really wanted to know is how connected you feel to people these days.”

Ginko lowered his hands, lacing his fingers together. His eyes dimmed in the dusk’s light, a dark olive. “Well, it depends.”

“How so?” Adashino pressed.

The wash of dying sunlight through the window faded into shadow as the clouds thickened, darkened. This time Ginko did retrieve his cigarettes. He turned the pack over in his hands and tapped out a cigarette. “Do you want to take a walk with me?”

Adashino met his eyes and looked away, gaze flicking across to his dimmed computer screen. “Not tonight,” he said. Either this evening was about to go productively well or incredibly wrong. Adashino eyed the cigarettes in Ginko’s hand. “If you want to light one up, go ahead. But take it outside.”

“I’d prefer if you came with me.”

Adashino blinked. “Is anything wrong?”

Ginko exhaled evenly through his nose. “No, but I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t believe it was important.”

Adashino gave a mock-dramatic sigh and combed his fingers through his hair. “Fine.”

.

.

.

Cold late-autumn rain soaked the pavement. The roads gleamed black. Cold lights overhead illuminated the sidewalk in fragmented halos. Ginko smiled slightly and looked away. He lowered a cigarette. The tang of smoke wafted from his lips. There was a strange spice to it, like fresh pine and cedar.

“Mino asked me the same question,” Ginko finally told him. Stretches of bare brittle thicket lined the pavement to their right. He seemed strangely fascinated by something within it that Adashino could not see. “How connected I am.”

“It’s an open-ended question about daily life,” Adashino said in response. “Not meant to be vague or evasive. Helps us to better understand what’s on your mind.”

Ginko listened, chewing lightly on his cigarette. “Hm.”

Adashino heaved a sigh. “Anyway,” he continued. “You don’t have to answer that. It wasn’t my business to even ask something like—”

“We’re connected,” Ginko said, point-blank.

Adashino glanced down briefly to see Ginko flick what remained of his cigarette away. “You do seem convinced of that.”

Ginko granted him a sardonic look. 

“Because of the mushi,” Adashino continued, cottoning to the conversion at hand. He shoved his hands into his wool-lined pockets if only to give them something to do. “They were in my office earlier, weren’t they?”

“They always are.” Ginko said nothing for some time. The wind blistered, its edge heavy and humid. Soon it would rain again. “Do you see the light here?”

Adashino blinked into the falling darkness. Flickering gaslight glowered above them. He then looked at the ground, glanced over his shoulder, and realized at last why Ginko had brought him here.

This place they were standing now meant something to him. There was something here. It could be a source of his manifestations or something else entirely. Either way, Adashino considered it progress.

“I don’t see anything.”

Ginko gave him an impassive look. “I see,” he said, looking back into the stretch of thicket to their right, eyes intense. He stepped back and weaved, eyes sliding half-shut. “There’s a light vein here. I thought you could have seen it too, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Adashino narrowed his eyes and stepped slowly forward into the thicket. A branch snagged his wool coat, but he pressed onward into the dark, clawing branches out of his path. The air was suddenly heavy and silent.

Ginko reached out and laid his hand against the curve of Adashino’s back. 

Adashino stopped. His throat jerked as he swallowed. “It’s here?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ginko breathed into the back of his neck. He moved his fingers over Adashino’s shoulder and at first, Ginko tried to coax him back silently. “You’re in it.”

“Really?” Adashino pulled away from him and pressed onward, fascinated by this apparent light he could not see. Ginko’s hand fell away from his back. The soil was rich and earthy here, sweet like ozone. There was a small owl nearby. It ruffled its feathers and softly hooted. The crackle of bare, leaf-stripped wood crackled uncomfortably in the breeze.

Stepping deeper into the thicket, Adashino brushed aside branches and twigs. Fallen leaves were at his feet, soaked with rainwater and sopping wet under each step.

A twig broke and stuck to his skin. Thick branches loomed high above his head, revealing small patches of a starless misty-dark sky, faintly illuminated by city lights in the distance. A bird lay on a patch of rotted leaves to his left, looking unmarked but certainly dead. 

The owl screeched and took flight.

“You know,” Adadshino said pensively. In hindsight, he should have known better than to come out here. The air felt unbearably heavy and cold. His lungs rattled sharply when sucked in the chilly air, and he coughed, turning back to face Ginko. “We should probably head back—”

His heart rate inched up as he took in the scene sprawled before him, blinking against the sight of what he then saw. 

Ginko was on the ground, face down on his stomach. 

Adashino raced to his side, knelt beside him, and threw a hand over his shoulder. “Ginko,” he murmured urgently, shaking him. He rolled him onto his side and noticed Ginko had not completely lost consciousness yet, though his eyes drifted shut as if he appeared to be sleeping, leveling out, fighting to remain awake.

“Ginko, hey. Stay with me. Tell me what happened. Are you hurt?”

 _“I'll be fine,”_ he choked out. Quiet, exhausted noises were made on every breath. His eyes slid open.

Adashino scrubbed a hand through his hair, eyes darting over Ginko’s frame. He was roughly his own size, if not quite a bit taller. Lifting and carrying Ginko out of here wouldn't be easy, though he could manage.

“Let’s get you to a hospital,” Adashino tried to suggest.

Ginko gave a low laugh, a sound that sounded more like a low hum in the back of his throat. _“...no.”_

A cold breeze pickled up, wind whistling through the brittle thicket. Broken pieces of rain began to fall down on them. Adashino warned Ginko first: “We still need to get you out of here. I'm going to lift you.”

Adashino held onto the other’s wrists, one in each hand. He bent his knees, pulled Ginko’s arms over his shoulders and drew them around his neck, down close to his body to keep them in place and leaned forward, lifting them both onto their feet.

Ginko draped over his shoulders without much argument. He shifted his weight slightly, helping to carry some of his own weight. The night shifted around them, muddled by the cold rain and sweeping wind that felt like ice against his face.

“There’s a hospital not too far from here,” Adashino tried again, the barest note of concern in his voice.

This time Ginko did not even reply. He remained curled against Adashino’s back, breaths deep and even. Adashino felt a light touch against his head when Ginko pointed down a street to their right. Then finally:

_“...this way.”_

Adashino studied Ginko’s outstretched hand for a moment before (despite all rational reasoning) stepping forward in that direction.

The place Ginko directed him to Adashino realized was his apartment. When they were close enough, Ginko attempted to stand on his own feet. He immediately wobbled backward and barely caught himself against the rain-slicked metal exterior stairway winding up toward the second floor.

That’s when Adashino realized Ginko was holding one palm over his eyes, blindly fumbling for his keys. 

Adashino reached out, dropping his hand over his, taking the keys from him. A frown creased Ginko’s face, small and distant, but there and unspeakably gentle. “Thanks.”

“Did you hit your head?” Adashino asked, unlocking the door at the top of the staircase. 

Ginko lowered his palm from his face then, but kept his eyes shut. There was no immediate reply, though he eventually murmured, “no.”

When Adashino opened the door, he was confronted by a rather large and fluffy cat, who meowed obstinately at them—at Adashino in particular.

“Hey,” Adashino greeted flatly, stepping past the cat. He placed the keys on the nearby kitchen counter. Textbooks were strewn across it, half of them flipped open and bookmarked with sheets of paper. The rest of the apartment was simply furnished. The air was stale and tinged faintly with the scent of clay, but it was cool, clean and empty. 

Ginko’s cat hopped its front paws against the side of the counter, mewing loudly, sharp eyes studying Adashino with a steadfast curiosity.

“I don’t think your cat likes me,” Adashino remarked.

“We don’t get many visitors, do we Chai?”

Ginko untied his boots and kicked them off. One palm still pressed over his eyes, he made his way blindly to the sofa, shrugging his damp coat across a coffee table. He folded his legs up, collapsing back into the sofa. 

Chai padded softly to a nearby windowsill and curled against the edge of the exposed brick wall under it.

Adashino did not move for some time. He studied his surroundings. Aside from the textbooks and countertops, the rest of the place was immaculate. It was a quaint studio. Standard off-campus student housing. 

The front door was still hanging open. He reached for the siding, prepared to leave when he noticed a book resting against the front entrance. It was wrapped in clear plastic and contained a note.

Adashino took it and closed the door behind him softly, remaining inside the kitchen.

The note was from Tanyuu Karibusa.

“What in the—,” Adashino murmured, fingers creasing alongside the side of the book. It appeared to be a thick journal stuffed with loose-leaf pages. He glimpsed over at Ginko, who remained very still. The heel of his hand pressed over one eye socket. 

Adashino carried the seal book with him and approached Ginko, crouched beside him, shifting slightly, sitting on folded knees. Ginko seemed deathly exhausted and drained from….

….he still did not know what.

That concerned him.

“Ginko,” Adashino spoke softly. Dusty tendrils of warm, incandescent city lights filtered through the tall paned windows embedded in the exposed brick of the apartment, helping to brighten the darkest of shadows inside the unlit living space. All other lights remained dark. “Do you have a history of narcolepsy?

“No,” he answered. A beat of silence passed. Ginko looked faintly drowned, face pale and worn ragged. His eyes were still covered under the heels of his palm. What remained visible on his face was strange in the mutable, strangled darkness. “It was the light. Shouldn’t have stared into it as long as I had.”

 _There was no light._ But what Adashino said instead was, “What light?”

Ginko pointed to the ceiling above them, pale-faced and hair damp from the late-autumn rainwater that had fallen earlier. His eyes remained closed. “I can still see the light there,” he said softly into the darkness. “When I don’t close my second eyelid.”

Adashino lifted his eyes to focus on the ceiling. 

It was as if they were living in two different realities. One reality was one in which Adashino could not see and therefore fully comprehend outside of textbook-abnormal-psychology. The other reality was the one Adashino needed to work within if he wanted to progress this investigation further. 

“This light doesn’t seem to be good for you,” Adashino said. 

Ginko smiled. A strange, gentle curve of his lips. It was not what Adashino would have expected at that moment.

“It’s not,” Ginko admitted, smile slipping from his face. He dropped the hand he held midair over his chest.

“Don’t look at it anymore,” Adashino told him.

Ginko ran his tongue over the edge of his lip. “I’m connected to that light. I feel more connected to it than anything else.”

“More connected than you do to other people, would you say?”

“What if I said, ‘yes?’”

“There wouldn’t be anything wrong if you did.”

“Something tells me that wouldn’t be the case for everyone.”

“You’re not a case, and you’re not like anyone else. Other people may be depressed.”

There was a pause; and it was at that moment Adashino suspected Ginko was hiding something from him. 

“ _Do_ you feel depressed?” Adashino asked.

“I’m fine.”

That didn’t exactly answer his question, but it did give Adashino information in other ways. He looked down at Ginko for a long time without saying anything. “Can you open your eyes?”

“I don’t think I can,” Ginko said, his voice even, neutral. 

Adashino ran his eyes over his face knowing Ginko meant it. Whether it was psychological or physical though was for debate. 

Resting on the floor was the plastic-wrapped journal. Fingers poised over the book, Adashino curled his hand around it and lifted it into his lap, tracing the spine of it with the tip of his nail, slicing through the plastic.

Ginko stirred.

Adashino froze. He lifted his gaze to see Ginko had now turned away from him, face pressed into his own arms, wrist dangling limply over the armrest.

Adashino shifted back onto the heels of his feet, peering curiously at the other who appeared to have drifted to sleep. Fully-aware it was not only a breach of privacy but an legitimate crime for what he was about to do, Adashino ripped away the plastic. He really should not be the one to preach ethics when his own were this compromised, although Adashino settled on the fact that what he was doing was research and not an actual doctor-patient breach of ethics.

It was too dark to read here. Adashino carried the journal to the kitchen and laid it across the mound of textbooks previously laid here, not wanting to flip on any lights yet. 

He grabbed his phone and tapped on its flashlight.

The journal contained countless drawings, some folded between the pages, of strange phenomena. Some appeared to be insects with notched, divided bodies unlike anything Adashino had ever seen. Other drawings seemed to be nothing more than a smear of light against shadows. Some other drawings appeared to manifest into a more human or flora form.

Adashino flipped through the arrangement of drawings. Contained in other pages were detailed accounts of unexplained occurrences, some which dated back decades.

One account told of a boy and his brother living on the streets, getting “infected” by their own graffiti.

There was an account told of an overnight security guard noticing strange floating creatures on the security camera, then going to investigate but never returning.

Another account told of an angry woman who poisoned local stray cats with antifreeze, but instead of dying, the cats began to watch her.

The front cover of the journal was adhered with a freshly-written note from Tanyuu Karibusa. It was sealed. Adashino tucked it under the front cover, deciding it would be better left unopened.

Adashino looked over at Ginko who remained a little too still for comfort. Ice curled in his stomach. Ginko slept as though he was drowned or heavily drugged. Adashino abandoned his phone on the counter next to the journal, approaching him softly. He knelt beside him once more and hovered a hand on his shoulder, but thought better of it and moved his hand away.

It startled him when Chai approached him then, paws padding the floor gingerly. She rubbed her face against his wool coat before curling close, lying across the open fold of his coat which draped across the floor.

Chai purred, settling softly against him.

Adashino sighed and leaned slightly back against the coffee table behind him, successfully pinned and trapped. He blinked at the empty space under the white linen sofa where Ginko rested, then lifted his gaze once again and waited in the dense stillness, unfocused.

He _really_ needed to not be here in the morning. Adashino was vividly aware of this fact, but at some point in the night he closed his eyes. His head dropped, nodding forward.

The sky turned a pale and smoky violet by the time Adashino drifted awake. Twilight had slipped deep into the midnight hours. All else remained unchanged. Chai was still curled next to him. Ginko appeared to be sleeping deeply now, breathing deep and even. 

Adashino scooped the sleeping Chai under one arm, setting her gently aside. His knees cracked and his neck ached as he rose to his feet, stiff from having slept knelt upright. 

Brows knit, Adashino rubbed at his eyes, stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed his phone, and left.


End file.
